Him sitting in the front row at every school event.
Him staying awake all night when I was sick.
Him fixing my veil on my wedding day, hands trembling, telling me my parents would be proud.
There was nothing fake about those moments.
Nothing.
And yet…
he never told me what really happened that night.
Every time I asked, he would shut down.
“It’s too painful,” he’d say.
And I believed him.
Because I loved him.
But now—
that silence felt different.
Not like grief.
Like something else.
Something heavier.
I needed answers.
I went back to the footage from the doorbell camera.
The woman who left the envelope—same coat, same scarf. I tracked her down through the car she drove.
